My new ebook (free PDF this week!) — Take Courage: Choosing faith on my journey of fear

Take Courage: Choosing faith on my journey of fear is a concise, two-part ebook offering hope to those, who like me, have found themselves in the grip of anxiety, adrenal fatigue, and trauma-related issues.

In the first section I share glimpses of eight drama-filled years in Haiti preceding my own personal crisis and in the second I offer insights for making spiritual, mental, and physical choices of courage.

If you are a jenniferebenhack.com blog subscriber, you’ve heard bits and pieces of my story. Download the ebook for the bigger picture!

Find Take Courage: Choosing faith on my journey of fear for your Kindle at amazon.com for $2.99

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Listening well to the ones I love most

So I try hard to be a good listener…

but about the time I twist my arm to pat myself on the back, I realize…

I’m tuning out the ones I love most.

I’m at TheBetterMom today, talking about how well I really listen. Join me!

Growing weary of the faith walk?

My husband and I have been comparing notes on how sometimes circumstances seem to conspire against us just to prove to us what big babies we are… basically the opposite of James 1:2-4.

Honestly, I rarely consider it pure joy to have my faith tested.

It’s painful realizing how pathetic I can be.

I look back and marvel at all I learned — yesterday, last year, seven years ago…

• patience through our nine-year adoption process,
• endurance through eight years in Haiti,
• trust through three years of fear,

not to mention dependence through thirty-one years of knowing the Great Provider.

How I wish every lesson had “stuck.”

But far too often, I forget. I forget that God came through… sustained… healed… provided.

I look at circumstances, look at tomorrow, throw my hands onto my head and wail, “Oh no, what are we going to do?”

I am “of little faith” just like the Israelites in the desert and Peter walking on the waves.

Sometimes I grow weary of trust — being dependent on Him for everything. I grow tired of constantly needing help, needing guidance, needing to be taught.

I prefer control.

I’d rather teach than learn. I’d like to dust my hands off and say, “Well, that was challenging, but well worth it. Now, let me help you out!”

But the minute I let myself think I’ve “arrived,” I stumble over my own immaturity. In trying so hard to know it all, I find myself wallowing in even deeper neediness.

It’s far from enjoyable — being needy, learning, learning, learning.

It’s humbling. It’s uncomfortable, even frightening. I long to be competent.

But then I would miss the whole thing — the whole point of my walk with Jesus:

My neediness and His sufficiency.

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick… For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Matthew 9:12 NIV
I’m a sick, needy sinner.

“Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us…”
Titus 3:5 NKJV
I couldn’t save myself.

“And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 4:19 NASB
All my provision comes from Him.

“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me… For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

My strength comes from Him.

So again, I acknowledge that I need Jesus… desperately.

I may have learned much in the past, but I admit that I need to learn again today.

Circumstances will continue to conspire against me (under God’s watchful, sovereign eye), reminding me that I am needy; but, I as I confess my weakness, I embrace His power.

Through Him, I can “count it all joy.” I can be made “mature and complete.”

________

Are you having a difficult time counting it all joy? What are you learning about trusting God?

“I was the lion” — When God doesn’t show up

If only God would show up…

… when we’re scared to death.
… when sickness hits.
… when our hearts are breaking.
… when ends won’t meet.
… when we’re alone.

… when everything is as wrong as it could possibly be.

From The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis:

“I can’t see you at all,” said Shasta, after staring very hard. Then (for an even more terrifying idea had come into his head) he said, almost in a scream, “You’re not – not something dead, are you? Oh please – please do go away. What harm have I ever done you? Oh, I am the unluckiest person in the whole world!”

Once more he felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face.

“There,” it said, “that is not the breath of a ghost. Tell me your sorrows.”

Shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in Tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis. And also, how very long it was since he had had anything to eat.

“I do not call you unfortunate,” said the Large Voice.

“Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta.

“There was only one lion,” said the Voice.

“What on earth do you mean? I’ve just told you there were at least two the first night, and – ”

“There was only one: but he was swift of foot.”

“How do you know?”

“I was the lion.” And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”

_____

We are so confident in our judgments. We find it so easy to declare “good” and “bad,” “fortunate” and “unfortunate.” Yet we have no idea the painstaking precision with which our steps are guided.

Though all is dark, though we don’t feel His presence, He is here. He writes every word in the story of our lives — beautifully, sovereignly working good through all that our enemy intends for evil.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?

Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?

… No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,

will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:35, 37-39

What if the “lions” we cower from are all “One Lion”… One who is working for our good?

Will we trust Him?

So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded.

You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.

For in just a very little while, “He who is coming will come and will not delay. But my righteous one will live by faith. And if he shrinks back, I will not be pleased with him.”

But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Hebrews 10:35-11:1

Though it’s hard to recognize, He is showing up. He is working… for our good.

**In what “unfortunate” events have you seen God work in your life?

In the trenches

Sometimes the stresses of life have hit me in a big way — crazy things like thieves breaking in or two years of panic attacks.

But sometimes… most of the time… my stress has piled up in the little everyday stuff. Things like spilled hamster cages and floors covered in socks, legos, and pencil shavings.

Getting past my kids’ preschool years has worked wonders in this department, but somehow, there are still “those days.”

When Jarod was out of town a while back, my 6:30 wake up call was the sound of Jaden’s head hitting his headboard during a seizure (a condition he’s faced since birth).

The next crisis was an overflowing toilet, defiled towels, rug, and floors.

My mission of the day was to chase down a newly prescribed medication for Jaden, so while I mopped, I conversed with pharmacies, doctors, and the hospital.

I ended up spending the day with four kids in the car, eventually procuring a few sample packs of his pills, albeit only half the promised amount.

In keeping with the tone of the day upon our return home, I dropped — and broke — a gallon of milk on my kitchen floor.

And my final mistake was allowing my seven year old to sleep in my bed. His unconscious flailings kept me awake till 2:00 am.

Some days things roll off my back, and then there are the days that I Just. Can’t. Take. One. More. Thing.

The bickering, the noise, the clutter, the chores that never end, and the interruptions make my chest tighten and my head spin.

It seems so silly, after I’ve witnessed and been a part of life and death matters, to allow the stressors — which come from gifts — to make me crazy.

But that’s life.

And that’s sanctification.

I need Jesus just as desperately as I mop and telephone doctor’s offices as I do in trauma.

The God of Isaiah 40 who “will not grow tired or weary” offers to “renew my strength” whether I’m in a major life crisis or teaching my children how to resolve petty arguments.

This too is my refining fire.

Lord, please give me grace to embrace this process.

Things I am learning in these trenches:

• I need the nourishment of God’s Word more than I usually think I do.

• I must force myself to stop — to be still in God’s presence. I need to go outside, drink in the blue sky, sunshine, and bird songs. (And for just a few minutes ignore the backyard clutter I see from my lawn chair.)

• I need to get back up from my lawn chair and faithfully plod on.

• I can combat the “blues” in some surprising ways, like eating bananas (said to reverse depressing moods!) or taking magnesium (a natural stress-reliever).

• A minute talking with a friend or loved one on the phone or in person is far more encouraging than social media.

• Following a purposeful calling is more energizing than mere busyness.

• God is always ready to restore my soul. (Psalm 23)

• When I recount the faithfulness of God in the past, my faith for today and tomorrow grows.

When I fall down you pick me up,

When I am dry you fill my cup.

You are my all in all.

Jesus, Lamb of God,

Worthy is Your Name!

(You Are My All In All)

His name is worthy. Worthy of my devotion. Worthy of this uncomfortable sanctification process.

What are you learning in your trench?

A dare to leave your comfort zone

In Your Beautiful Purpose, Susie Larson writes:

“If we live in the comfort zone and make accommodations for self-preservation, that zone begins to shrink. Even what we know begins to diminish” (126).

A couple years ago, as I battled intense panic attacks, most of the world was outside my comfort zone.

• Driving a car was out of the question.
• Shopping prompted feelings of derealization.
• Going to church produced anxiety and claustrophobia.
• Sitting in a restaurant with my husband made me uneasy.
• Venturing anywhere completely new stirred even greater panic.

I really just wanted to stay at home.

At home, I was safe. I could distract myself with kids and responsibilities, or I could escape everything with a nap or a book.

But as I sought help for the anxiety surrounding my yet-to-be-diagnosed adrenal fatigue, I learned about the dangers of living within my comfort zone. It would only make things worse. My world would grow smaller, and I would grow increasingly fearful. Just as Susie Larson says, when we “make accommodations for self-preservation, that zone begins to shrink. Even what we know begins to diminish” (126).

So I reluctantly forced myself to keep going out, to push past the discomfort and face all that was unsettling. By God’s grace I didn’t go crazy, I avoided developing more phobias, and I grew from the lessons and interactions God had for me “out there.”

This concept applies in so many areas of our lives, but most importantly, on a spiritual level:

“Consider carefully what you hear,” Jesus continued. “With the measure you use, it will be measured to you — and even more. Whoever has will be given more; whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them.” (Mark 4:24-25)

We are made for growth, for transformation, and for others. If we make life about us and about our comforts, we will tragically miss our whole purpose for living on the earth today. (Larson 127)

Jesus said:

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.

In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:13-16)

Have you become unsalty? Are you living for comfort rather than God’s passions?

There is a world out there in need of salt and light.

We tend to hide ourselves away from it or else blend into it.

But, we’re called to leave those comfort zones and be salty and luminous again.

Is God calling you to do something today?

Speak up?

Share your testimony?

Push past panic?

Make a commitment?

Make a confession?

Go where He’s leading you?

There is a lot of disturbing stuff going on in our broken world. And as Kay Warren says in Dangerous Surrender, “If we’re not disturbed by the world in which we live, we will be consumed with the trivial, the insignificant, and the temporary. We will spend our days pursuing all the wrong goals, living by the wrong measurement of success, evaluating our legacy by the wrong standard” (21).

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’ve been “disturbed” on some level.

But don’t just shake your head.

Take that step out of your comfort zone.

Do the next thing God is calling you to do.

Maybe it’s:

• memorizing Scripture with your kids.
• standing up for the abused and persecuted.
• becoming a prayer warrior.

You probably already know what it is. If not, ask God; He knows.

I was challenged to pray this prayer this week. Will you dare to pray it too?

I want every minute of my life to count for You. Awaken me with fresh passion, fiery faith, and a renewed resolve to follow hard after You… May Your power be evident in and all around me. May Your love flow freely through me. Keep me from evil and from harm, and help me to live a life full of faith, rich in holiness. Increase my capacity to live and walk by the Spirit. Awaken Your passions within me that I might be quick to obey You. My life is in Your hands. I trust You and will follow You, Lord. Change the world through me. Amen. (Your Beautiful Purpose 133)

**How is God stretching you today?

Choosing my special child

I’ve blogged about my son Jaden before. Actually, I could probably write a pretty interesting story about him every day.

Oh yes… when we chose our dear boy, we had no idea how many scares we would have, nor how many scars he would someday have.

Thanks to his special needs and fearless nature, this child would eventually fall off a roof, drink gasoline, and endure a hundred (provoked) wasp stings. He would do his best to ensure I never received a “mother-of-the-year” award. (What kind of mom lets her child do those things?) Having him would mean trouble finding a babysitter, seizures in the middle of church, lots of stares in public, and far too many doctor visits.

Join me at Gillian Marchenko’s blog today for the rest of this article:

Choosing My Special Child

There is no easy life… but there is hope.

Have you — like me — ever found yourself thinking “I don’t believe anyone else has it this hard?”

Some days we know we’re being ridiculous, but other days we really wonder. We see organized moms, happy couples; healthy, beautiful, prosperous people. We feel quite alone with our impossible workload, our debt, our anxiety, our marital struggle.

Today I am honored to guest post at The Better Mom!

Please join me there to read the rest of this post. You’re just a click away:

There is no easy life… but there is hope.

Who am I?

I heard you say, “I’m not sure who I am anymore,” and I understood.

Crises and even natural changes did that to me too. It may happen again.

Sometimes who I am requires very little analysis.

But there are also times when everything seems to hang on the answer.

In my childhood search for self, I took my cues from those around me.

The adults in my life told me I had potential: I was bright. I had talent. I was responsible. For better and for worse, I measured myself by their standards.

Who I was — who I might become — was exciting.

As a wife and mom of five, doing ministry in a sun-scorched land, my duties often swallowed my identity.

I was the one who made the meals, wiped up spills, changed the diapers, woke to feed babies. I rode a four-wheeler, I started the generator, I shopped the open market,

I fed hungry people. I nurtured, I loved, I served, sometimes forgetting that I was not the “living water” or “bread of life.”

Who I was exhausted me.

When our Red Sea parted, and God’s dry path led us to the States, I faced a new crisis.

I was no longer a missionary; a server; a giver. Rather, I was broken. I was displaced, disoriented, and fragile. I didn’t recognize myself.

Who I was plunged me into fear and confusion.

Today, I am grateful; still on the journey, sometimes overwhelmed, but trusting and growing.

I am a recipient of unmerited favor. I see God’s work, inside and out. Sometimes my callings seem too big; other times too small.

But the truth is, who I am has never changed.

Ever since I trusted Him thirty-one years ago, who I was… was His child.
From that point on, God has not measured me. He already knows I fall short.

My strivings, my abilities, my reputation, my “goodness” could never be enough; could never define me.

While I forget… while I measure myself by other’s perceptions, my roles, my output, the fact remains — that’s not who I am.

I am found in Him.

Who am I?

I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow.
A wave tossed in the ocean.
A vapor in the wind.
Still You hear me when I’m calling.
Lord, You catch me when I’m falling.
And You’ve told me who I am.
I am Yours.

from Who Am I by Casting Crowns

When we don’t know how our story will end… He is here.

Today is nearly perfect.

I am completely comfortable:
The temperature is 79 degrees.
I’m sitting by a screened-in pool,
listening to the rustle of palm trees,
while gentle breezes kiss my face.

Best of all,

I
am
uninterrupted.

I’m not sure I could overstate the beauty of that concept right now.

I’ve escaped the joyful (and yes, sometimes less-than-joyful) chaos of my own home, and am house-sitting for church friends.

What that really means is that I begged for the privilege of sitting in their lovely, empty home in order to string several coherent thoughts together and type them into my memoir.

As I wrote the last 6,255 words for chapters ten and eleven (I knew I could get something done if I was given a day of quiet!),

I was

blown
away

by the goodness of God
through the days that could not possibly have been more opposite of this day.

There was the day Jarod and I had to leave Haiti without our three precious kids…

The coup against President Arisitide was gathering momentum, and missionaries were being evacuated. Despite our protests, our Haitian friends insisted our unadopted Haitian children would be safest without the white faces of their parents nearby. Aristide’s police force would go into hiding as the rebel army approached, and Americans would be a target without any local law enforcement.

As I wept in the car, just hours before our departure, a song came onto the radio. Daphne, my two-year-old musical prodigy began to sing along…

God is in control.
We believe that His children will not be forsaken;
God is in control.
We will choose to remember and never be shaken;
There is no power above or beside Him, we know
Oh, God is in control, oh God is in control.

And He was. His sovereign hand held each member of our family for the entire month that we were separated from each other.

Then there was the day Jaden had his first gran mal seizure…

It lasted far too long. Jarod had just driven off our yard. Our phones weren’t working. I carried our stiff, shaking boy over my seven-month-pregnant belly down the mountain, praying that the doctor who lived at the bottom would be home and know what to do.

By divine appointment, Dr. Mark was there. His Valium injections ended the seizure, and he provided meds to prevent more of the same.

There was also the day I gave birth to Dora…

Thirty-nine hours into the labor we’d been told the baby was in distress, we’d transferred to a second hospital in Port, I was prepped for a c-section, the doctors were ignoring me, and Jarod, due to a life-long recurring nightmare, was convinced he was going to lose me in surgery.

But then…

In the fortieth hour, the delays, the transfer, the complications, and the ineptitudes worked according to God’s orchestration.

Right as I was about to be wheeled into what we feared would be a traumatic surgery, God brought our daughter into the world completely naturally.

—

Today, as I type in peace that is nearly surreal, I remember what God did on the days I panicked… the days when everything in the world was wrong… when I stood to lose everything I held dear.

He was there.

And everything good is found in Him.

Today, I know how those stories end. I can write them, knowing they each have a happy ending.

But as I lived them, I didn’t know.

As I live today’s story, I don’t know its ending.

But God is here.

You don’t know the end of your story today either.

But you are in His hands.

—

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
 you discern my thoughts from afar.

You search out my path and my lying down
 and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,
 behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

You hem me in, behind and before,
 and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
 it is high; I cannot attain it.

Where shall I go from your Spirit?
 Or where shall I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
 If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

If I take the wings of the morning
 and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,
 and your right hand shall hold me.

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
 and the light about me be night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you;
 the night is bright as the day,
 for darkness is as light with you.

For you formed my inward parts;
 you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
 my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
 intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
 the days that were formed for me,
 when as yet there was none of them.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
 How vast is the sum of them!

If I would count them, they are more than the sand.
 I awake, and I am still with you…
Search me, O God, and know my heart!
 Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,
 and lead me in the way everlasting!

(From Psalm 139)